Marked: Ghost Ship 2
by flamingxroses
Summary: What happens when Jack marks a living soul? Meet Amelia, reluctant heroine with a unique ability... she sees dead people. When Jack mistakes her for an unmarked soul on his ship and marks her, both their plans for surviving their trip is threatened.
1. Chapter 1

_Three nights without sleep is not a good thing_, I thought, struggling to keep my eyes open. The next math test was a bomb- I was having enough trouble staying _awake_ much less actually pay attention. Comprehending what the teacher was blathering on about was next to impossible.

I indulged myself a little and rested my head in my arms on my desk. It probably wasn't the best idea, but at the moment I couldn't care less. All I cared about was getting home and sleeping for the next week. I glanced at my plain plastic wristwatch. Officially two hours until spring break and I-

_Oh, shoot_. The cruise. I had completely forgotten about it. I moaned, saying goodbye to my spring break and decided that I didn't care if I was caught sleeping in class or not. My dad was already punishing me by making me come to work with him on my spring break. Salvaging ships, no less. "The Cruise" he called it. Whatever. Just because he was the captain, didn't mean I had to like it. I hate boats.

Not to mention the fact that I am _terrified_ of water.

"Amelia, I'm glad you enjoy my class, but you must let others have their turn."

My head snapped up and I looked around the room groggily, horrified to see it was empty.

"Oh, um, okay," I mumbled as I stuffed my books into my satchel and stood up. The teacher was glaring at me, like she always does as I walked out of the room. I sighed and tucked my overlong auburn hair behind my ear, trudging to my final class through the few kids still in hall. Jeez, how long had Mrs. Mandalay let me sleep in there? Long enough to make me late, I thought scathingly and stopped a few feet from my classroom door. Oh, what the heck. I was already counted absent- I was more than ten minutes late. I could go home and catch up on my packing.

I sneaked out the nearest exit and walked across the parking lot to my house. Yes, I live next door to my school. It's pathetic, I know, but I get to get up at seven-thirty every morning while everyone else I know is already on their way to school.

I shut the door behind me and walked down a narrow hall to my bedroom at the end of it. What greeted me was not a pleasant sight. Piles of clothing littered the floor around a suitcase (which was not possibly large enough to fit everything I needed into it) on my bed. Not that I need to bring a lot of clothes or anything. I mean, we were only spending _a whole week_ on that piece of-

_Okay, Amelia, breathe_, I reminded myself, shutting my eyes. I sighed, and opened my eyes again. Okay, only the essentials then. I grabbed my portable CD player and gigantic CD case and tossed them in on the few t-shirts I had already packed. My notebooks went in next- I couldn't possibly live without them- and then my mother's picture.

I held it for a minute, looking at the brooding red-haired woman in the photo. The actual photograph was black and white, but I knew by memory. I could almost smell my mother's perfume, soft vanilla and peppermint. Wiping away a tear, I put it in my bag safely cushioned by some other shirts. I threw in a couple of pairs of underwear and the only pair of jeans I had besides the ones I was wearing. Tattered as they were, they would have to do.

I zipped it up and dumped it off the side of my bed, then collapsed on it, falling into a light doze.

It seemed like five minutes later that I was woken up to a timid, "Hello?"

I moaned, opening my eyes to slits. The small Hispanic woman standing awkwardly in my doorway was smiling at me shyly and glowing.

Just as I had suspected. Another ghost. The only thing that had kept me awake for three nights straight. I tried my best to smile at her as I grudgingly pulled myself into a sitting position. "Can I help you?"

"I was told to see someone about finding my daughter."

I sighed, pulling out the phonebook next to my bed. "Her name?"

"Rosa Fernandez."

I flipped through the book and found about three Rosa Fernandez's. "Is she married, do you know?"

The woman shook her head. "No. No husband."

I nodded. Well, that narrowed it down. "Look, I'll write down her address for you. That is what you want, isn't it?"

She wrung her hands in a distressed way. "I'm supposed to give something to her."

I sighed. Perfect. Just what I needed the night before my un-vacation. "Do you have it, or do I have to go get it?"

"It is under the tree in her yard." She smiled apologetically. "In a box."

I nodded. "All right, I'll take care of it."

She smiled widely and kissed my hand about a million times before she disappeared. I wiped it on my jeans, muttering, "Sick- ghost slobber," as I pulled on my black hoodie and put on my leather gloves. If I was going all ghost buster at- I looked at the clock- nine-o-clock at night, I was going to dress warm. My tennies were cheap payless knock-offs, but they were all I had, so I pulled them on, ripping the page with Rosa's address out of it as I walked out the door.

I guess I should explain a bit. I can see ghosts. It's not the best talent in the world, I will admit. I mean, if you want to marry a guy and his parents ask you what you're good at, you can't really say, "Oh, sending the dead on to their eternal rest," can you? No way. I don't know where it came from, since my twin brother didn't get it, but I can tell you, I do not like it. At all. For one, they always come at the worst times. Like, right in the middle of class or while I'm supposed to be sleeping. And not all of them are as nice as Rosa's mom- not by a long shot. And there's the fact that Jeff _never_ stops teasing me about it. You'd think your brother would have a little compassion on you, especially since he's the only person that knows.

And then there's the occasional breaking and entering.

Rosa's house was a normal suburbs house in the middle of a nice neighborhood. I stared at the open front yard. There was only one tree I could see, and it was by the side of the road. Great, like I wasn't conspicuous enough already.

I walked over to it. No box. Of course. So when she'd said _under_ the tree…

I pulled out the small shovel I'd brought along with me, wondering what kind of punishments almost-eighteen-year-olds got for destruction of lawns.

The box was only a few feet under the surface. I pulled it out and dusted the dirt off. It was a small carousel music box, with an inscription in the bottom that I couldn't read since it was in Spanish. I turned it over, wondering what was so important about this piece that it had held Rosa's mother back from the afterlife. People stay behind for the strangest things, I've found.

I carried it to her front door after putting the lawn back the best I could, rang the doorbell, and left. Okay, I ran like a kid playing ding-dong-ditch. It was embarrassing. In fact, I don't even know why I'm telling you.

I started the two-mile walk home. There was no way I was going to make it home before my dad did now.

Ironically, just as I thought this, his truck pulled down the road I was standing on and he glared at me with hard brown eyes. I gave him an "oops" smile and he sighed, jerking his head toward the seat next to him. "Get in."

I went around to other side and settled into the familiar, cracked, diesel-smelling vinyl seats. My dad didn't say anything as he began driving down the street. He's like that- the strong, silent type, especially around me. It drives the ladies crazy. My dad's a good-looking older man. Too bad for them, he's still in love with my mom.

I looked out the window, noticing that we were headed the opposite way of my house. "Where are we going?"

"I have a meeting and I'm late. I don't have time to take you home."

I stifled a groan and rested my head against the window. You try to do something nice for someone.

You might be wondering why my dad didn't ask me what I was doing wandering around two miles from home. I think he stopped asking after the fiftieth time.

We didn't talk on the way to wherever we were going. I played with the radio, but there was nothing on, so I turned it off and hummed quietly to myself as I tried to figure out where we were going. There aren't a lot of places that are suitable for a meeting where I live. I vainly hoped it was Starbucks, but wasn't surprised when we pulled up in front of a ramshackle shed that was once used for storing huge boats, but was now a restaurant. I knew the place well. And I hated it.

Suitable punishment, I decided, getting out of the car to follow my dad inside. It was crowded with seaman this time of night, all loud and sweaty and I think I was possibly the only girl in their besides the waitresses. It smelled like fish and men.

Definitely suitable punishment, I thought, looking around. My father stopped at the bar and asked for the guy he was supposed to meet. The bartender pointed toward a table and my father nodded, heading toward where we were going. I followed, dreading an hour or two of drunken talk and man jokes. My feet were definitely dragging… until we got to the table, that is.

Jack Ferriman was around twenty-five years old, with the most gorgeous blue eyes I had ever seen and wicked-looking eyebrows. His hair was dark brown, brushed forward over his forehead, and even in the plain navy windbreaker and green shirt he wore, he still seemed above the other boisterous men here. He gave my dad a smile as he walked up, but it disappeared when he saw me. "Who's this?" he asked in a very nice tenor voice.

"My daughter," my dad said by way of introduction and sat down. I hesitated, not wanting to intrude; I was obviously not welcome here. I had no choice, however, if the look on my father's fact had anything to do with it. I sat down across from Jack, the only open seat that wasn't beside him. And the night pretty much went downhill from there.

Jack and my father were talking about the plans for the new ship that had just been built. The one my father was the new captain of. The one he was dragging me onto for a week. Apparently, it was a big deal, lots of space and a rec room and a restaraunt, etc...

So what? The boat was still on the water. Water equals an uninterested me. So I sighed and played with the ice in my glass of sweet tea, not paying any attention, and being completely and totally _bored_.

Until he took out the black and white photos and my stomach turned over. There was nothing extraordinary about them, really, they were just aerial views of a really big shadow on the ocean, but I knew that shadow.

I'm not sure what my face looked like, but it must have been pretty bad, because Jack looked at me and said, "Are you okay?"

"Can I see those?" I whispered, and grabbed the pictures without waiting for an answer. I stared at it hard, trying to make out any words or shapes that would tell me I was wrong, and I was hoping against hope that I was. But as I studied the photos, I couldn't deny it. This was the boat- the boat I was going to die on.


	2. Chapter 2

"I refuse to get out of this car."

My brother sighed, banging his head against the driver's side window. "Ames, look, its not big deal. The boat is full of rafts and like, life jackets and stuff."

"I don't care," I told him petulantly and began to pout. Really mature, yeah, I know, but what was I supposed to do? Willingly walk to my death? And don't even begin to ask me how I knew I was going to die. It just goes with the ghost thing. Touch a person with a week to live, and I suddenly know how exactly they're going to die- touch a ghost and I know why they're already dead. Its one of the perks of this ghost-seeing business.

That was a joke.

"You're not going to die on the boat!" he said, stepping back from the window and looked like he was going to smash it and pull me out by the hood on my jacket. I glared at him.

"Holy crap, could you _be_ any louder? And yes, I am, I saw it!" My voice was starting to get annoyingly high and screechy. "I'm going to _die_. In a bathtub!"

"Then skip the shower!" he yelled.

"What's the deal, guys?" my dad asked stonily, walking over the car.

Oh great. The end of rebellion was near.

"Ames won't come out of the car," my brother said, his tone suggesting that I was completely hopeless. I was beginning to agree with him.

"Amelia, get out of the car."

"But dad-"

He turned and walked away without looking back. Well, that took care of that. If he came back again, it would be with a crowbar. I flipped the lock up and opened the door sulkily. As soon as it was open enough for him to fit his hand through, my twin grabbed me by the sleeve, yanked me out, and slammed the door shut.

"Hey!" I pulled back, fixing my skewed jacket. "Don't touch me."

"Look," he sighed for about the millionth time that day, "I know you're under a lot of stress. I mean, talking to the dead- I can imagine it's not a picnic."

I snorted in response to this, but he just kept talking like he hadn't heard me.

"But you're not going to die while I'm here. I promise." He gave me his characteristic crooked grin and playfully punched my arm. "Now get on that boat before I have to carry you up there myself."

I moaned, staring at the huge piece of metal that was supposed to float me to an island in the Caribbean. Yeah, right. That thing, float.

I put one foot forward, and then pulled it back. "I can't do this, Jeff."

"Ames-"

"No, really," I pleaded, "I really don't think I can. I'll puke or something!"

He rolled his eyes. "Puke on my jacket and I'll kill you."

My eyebrows pulled together. "Your jacket? Why would I- hey! _Put me down!" _I pounded his back indignantly at being thrown over his shoulder. "What am I, rice? Put me down! Jeff, are you listening to me? _Jeff?_ Whoa…"

I felt the second our feet left stable ground- well, his feet, technically. The rocking of the plank-looking thingy was all it took. It's amazing how many times you can throw up on a breakfast of a bagel and cream cheese.

"Oh, sick!" my brother yelled, dropping my gracelessly on the deck. "I told you, not on the coat!"

"Like I had a choice," I muttered, my hand against my stomach like I could hold in whatever was left. "Oh, great, it got in my hair. What am I supposed to do now?"

"Hit the shower," he said in disgust, holding his jacket away from him with two fingers. "Oh, please," he added, seeing the look on my face. "You've got to be kidding me. Use the sink or something!"

"I am _not_ washing puke out of my hair in a sink." I gave him a stubborn look as I stood up slowly. People were already milling about the deck, but a large number of them were doing less milling and more staring.

"It's up to." He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and walked passed me, throwing back, "You either take a bath or spend the week covered in vomit."

Well, since he put it _that_ way…

It was quite possibly the _fastest _shower I have ever taken, despite the fact that we'd set out and I was perpetually nauseous. My room was on the ground floor, one of the smaller ones- no special treatment for the captain's kids- with only a small bed bolted to the floor and a bedside dressed with a lamp- also bolted down. But it had its own bathroom, and I was alone, so I couldn't complain. Except for the fact that it was, you know, _on the water_.

I hadn't seen the rest of the ship yet. Actually, I was sure I wouldn't the entire week. The thing was _huge_, like Titanic huge (not a happy thought, considering what happened to _that_ one) and had more rooms than my entire school- which is a lot. One place I _knew_ wouldn't be seeing was the kitchen- or dining room. As much as I loved food, I hated throwing up even more. It's not like they served anything decent anyway; it was a bunch of caviar and disgusting rich-people food like that. I'd rather have a can of Spaghetti-o's any day.

By the time I gathered my courage to leave the room and go out on deck, it was well past midnight and there were only a few out, mostly people who were working. The moon was huge and full, illuminating the freshly cleaned wooden planks of the deck, and the water- well, I guess it was pretty, all black and sparkly, if you like water. Which I don't, as I'm sure I've mentioned before. I stayed as close to the wall as possible as I walked toward the stern of the ship where there was- hallelujah!- absolutely no people.

I pulled one of the deck chairs away from the railing and fell into it. The rocking didn't seem quite so bad here in the open air, away from everyone else.

Wait- maybe not completely away. What was that light almost hidden by the wall? Was that… a person?

"No," I moaned, pulling myself up onto the seat, vainly hoping whoever it was wouldn't see me. Come _on! _ I was supposed to be on vacation! Granted, the worst vacation ever, but… no! Ghosts were not on my schedule!

I stood up, ready to retreat to the other side of the ship when a pleasantly familiar voice said, "No, please, don't move because of me." I'd only heard those lovely tomes once before, but I'd recognize them anywhere.

"Mr. Ferriman?" I asked dubiously, craning to see around the corner. "Why are you-" I bit my tongue on the word _glowing_. Jeez, what kind of freak would he think I am? What kind of freak did he _already_ think I was, since I'd run out of his and my dad's meeting at the sight of a boat?

"Hmmm?" he asked, coming out to stand with his back against the railing, his arms folded casually over his chest. The moonlight made his blue-green eyes gleam like a feral animal.

I cleared my throat, trying to quell my desperate desire to ask him how old he was and would he ever consider dating a two-days-away-from-being-eighteen year old?

"Why are you out here in the middle of the night? Everyone else is asleep."

"I could ask you the same thing." His tone was still light, almost indifferent, and suddenly I had an uneasy feeling. "I didn't see you all day."

"Oh, well," I made a helpless gesture with my hands. "I was, around. In my room." What the _devil_ had made me say that?

"Not a morning person?" he guessed with a grin.

"No, it's not that, it's…" I stopped. What was wrong with me? I was suddenly spilling my guts to a person I didn't know. Even if he was undeniably gorgeous, I didn't even tell _my dad_ where I'd been all day, much less my fear of water.

"Nothing. I uh, I should go see my dad."

"Oh, no." He straightened up and gave me an apologetic smile- for what, I wasn't sure. And he was still glowing. What was wrong with my ghost-meter? It was on the fritz or something, because he wasn't just glowing, his glow was _red_ and I was pretty sure that since both my father and my brother had seen him, he was in the land of the living. "Stay for awhile. Everyone else has been asleep for hours. Come here." He nodded his head toward the railing. I stared at it.

"Um… I don't know." I wrung my hands nervously and he raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, I won't let you fall in." He held out his hand and his look was very reassuring. Too reassuring. I'd taken two steps forward without even realizing it. Unfortunately, two steps was far enough for him to grab my hand and pull me forward. Mortifyingly, I screeched and grabbed onto him.

"Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh." I squeezed my eyes shut. "Mr. Ferriman, really, I don't like-"

"It's Jack," he said softly.

I blinked up at him and said intelligently, "Huh?"

"Well, I feel kinda funny having a girl old enough to date me calling me mister anything. How old did you say you were?"

"Eighteen," I lied, and then looked away. Not a good idea. I'd forgotten- miraculously- that I was standing right above the ocean, separated only by a flimsy rail. Stupidly, I'd had a glass of water earlier and it was suddenly threatening to come up.

"You okay?" Jack sounded concerned, but he sounded far away, and when he put his wool pea coat around me, it felt really rough against my skin.

"Unh…" I moaned. "I think I should-"

And then I threw up all over his shoes.

Unfortunately, the ground did not open up and swallow me whole. Probably because we were on a freaking _boat_.


	3. Chapter 3

I have to say, even though it was kind of rude of me to throw up on his shoes, he wasn't very gracious about it. I mean, it wasn't like I _meant_ to throw up on him or anything.

"God!" he yelled, practically throwing me away form him. He was holding his arms out from himself as if he couldn't stand to be in his own skin as he looked at me, fuming. "Do you have _any_ idea how expensive these were?"

"Well, jeez," I yelled back, standing up. "You might want to check and see if the reason the person you're inviting to stand next to you might not want to stand so close to the water because she gets _seasick!"_

"Why are you even here if you get seasick?" he demanded, still looking totally grossed out. Okay, I would too, but I would at least try to make it no big deal so the other person didn't feel like total crap.

I put my hands on my hips. Hottie or not, this guy was _infuriating_. "You're right, I should spend the entire week in my four-by-two-foot room. What the hell do you think I'm doing out here? Getting oxygen!"

"Not out here," he hissed. "On the boat!"

"My father," I sniffed, "just happens to be the captain."

He started to say something, and then stopped. A vicious grin spread across his face. "Oh, right. My apologies. If I had known who you were, I would never have made you come to the rail."

I started to tell him that it was okay when he continued with, "If a girl runs out of a bar at the site of a boat I can imagine what its like being on one."

It was an innocent enough statement, but you didn't see the look on his face when he said it. He was _mocking_ me.

"You didn't _make_ me stand next to you. I did it on my own."

"Yeah, well maybe next time you should-"

"Oh no," I said, turning away. "There's not going to be a next time."

As I walked back to my room, I could feel his stare on my back. It was hot and uncomfortable, almost like-

But, no, that wasn't possible. Because he was alive, not a ghost.

The person I found standing in my room, however, definitely was. A ghost, I mean. She couldn't have been much older than I was, maybe twenty. Long blond hair, braided down her back and a brown dress that looked like it had seen better days. Oh, and a large gash in her forehead.

"Not now," I moaned, unconsciously throwing off Jack's coat onto a chair.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she started quietly in a sweet soprano voice, looking down at her hands.

I sighed and shook my head. "No, its fine. Really. How can I help you?"

"Oh, no," she said as she shook her head, her eyes wide. "I came to warn you."

"Warn me?" That was a new one. I'd never been warned of anything by a ghost before. "What about?"

She bit her bottom lip and looked away. "He knows. Well, he doesn't know, but he will soon."

Ugh. Cryptic messages. "Who knows what?"

"He knows that you're different. That you're not like the others on the ship." She looked at me, a sense of urgency coming over her. "Don't let him touch you. Don't let down your guard." She looked toward the ceiling suddenly and seemed to recoil. I looked also, and didn't see anything at first. But after a minute, I saw it… the bloody tendrils crawling across the ceiling, down the walls.

"Oh my god!" I jumped into the middle of the room, hunching my shoulders and holding my arms against my chest. "What is that?"

"Don't let him know you see," she whispered in a panic, starting to fade.

"No, hey! Who? Hey, get back here! Oh, that is so not fair!" Really, if I'm going to help a wandering soul, it's not fair that they can fade away whenever they want to. But wait, I hadn't helped her. She'd come to warn _me_.

_Don't let him touch you. Don't let him know you see._

Who? The same person who was going to drown me in my bathtub?

Hold up. I turned toward the bathroom, the door slightly ajar. I didn't _have_ a bathtub. I had a stand-up shower.

I grabbed my head. What was going on with my ghost senses?

A knock on the door made me jump and I contemplated not opening it, until I heard my brother call, "Ames? You in there?"

"Jeff," I sighed, opening the door. "Hey, what's up?"

He walked inside, his head almost hitting the ceiling. Despite the fact that we're twins, he's a good four inches taller than me. "I haven't seen you all day. I just wanted to make sure you didn't drown or anything."

He was joking, but his smile vanished as I looked toward the bathroom. "Something wrong?"

"Jeff," I started hesitantly. "I don't have a bathtub."

He relaxed. "Is that all? Well, it's a good thing. That means you won't drown."

"No," I shook my head. "That's the point. It's not good. It means there's something wrong with my ghost whatever-it-is. I saw myself drown in a bathtub, _in this room_. But there's no bathtub."

"So?" He shrugged. "It was just a fluke. No big deal."

"I've never had a fluke before," I retorted, irritated by his total indifference. "And tonight when I was on the deck, Jack was _glowing._ Red!"

He started to look a little concerned. "Are you sure it wasn't some trick of the water or something?"

I stared at him.

"Okay, okay." He put up his hands defensively. "So what do think is going on?"

"I don't know." I bit my lip, thinking. "I got a warning tonight from a ghost about someone on board who wants to… do something."

"Do something?" Jeff's eyebrows furrowed. "Like what?"

"I don't know." I waved my hands in a helpless gesture. "She said something about someone on board knowing about me and that I shouldn't touch him. I don't know who," I snapped as he opened his mouth and he shut it with a sheepish look. I collapsed on to the small bed and pulled my pillow over my face. My voice was muffled as I whined, "I want to go home."

"You're right, I'll go tell dad to turn the ship around take all three hundred people on board back to the dock so we can drop you off at home."

"You're not helping," I growled, though the affect was lost through the pillow. He pulled it off of me and then hit me in the stomach with it.

"Ouch," I moaned. "Don't do that. I just threw up all over the deck."

My brother laughed like only a boy would. "Really?"

"Well, technically just on Jack's shoes. But the deck was there."

He fell off the bed he was laughing so hard. "Oh my god, that's hilarious! Tell me it was the Prada ones, please!"

"Well, he was pretty pissed off about it. He um…" I rubbed my side, just now realizing how much it hurt. "He threw me down."

Jeff stopped laughing. "Wait, he hurt you?"

"Well, not really. I mean… well, he pushed me and I fell down."

His expression got dark. "Ames, listen to me, if he hurt you, I swear I'll cut off the jerk's-"

"Um, really, Jeff," I said nervously, trying not to imagine what part of Jack's anatomy Jeff was talking about. "It's okay. I'm fine. Just… really tired."

"Okay, but if you need me," he made a fist and punched his other hand. I smiled at him. Annoying, yes, but Jeff was the best brother anyone could ask for. I leaned over and gave him a hug, and something box-shaped crinkled in his pocket.

"Since when did you start smoking?" I demanded, snatching the box out of his pocket. He looked puzzled for a second and then realized what I was talking about.

"Those aren't cigarettes; it's Dramamine- it's to help with seasickness."

"Oh." I turned the package over in my hands. "So what do I do with it?"

He stood up, walking towards the door. "There are instructions on the box, Ames. I gotta go see dad up in the captain's cabin."

"Oooh," I said nervously, getting onto my knees. "Please don't tell him what happened. _Please!"_

He looked at me like I was crazy. "Right, and if I were, what exactly would I tell him? Don't worry about it." He tousled my hair getting a much-deserved irritated look from me. "Get some sleep. Please. You look like crap."

"Fine, fine." I got underneath the covers and said, "Goodnight, Jeff. And, um… thanks."

He grabbed his chest like he was having a heart attack. "Doest my ears deceive me? Was that _gratitude?"_

"Don't get used to it. And shut the door, its cold!" I slid down onto my pillow as I heard him leave, not even bothering to change my clothes or turn off the lamp. I was _so_ tired, and as I drifted off to sleep I thought I heard someone in my room. It sounded like Jack. He sighed softly and there was an edge of malice in his voice as he whispered, "What am I gonna do with you?"

But it might have been part of the horrendous nightmares that started as soon as I fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Nightmares haven't ever really been a problem of mine. I mean, lets face it, when you talk to dead people, there's not a lot that'll scare you. But these were terrifying- flashes of images that made no sense at first, just blood and death and eyes. Terrifyingly beautiful blue eyes with a feral gleam, hungry, endless…

Eventually they coalesced into some semblance of order, images running together to make scenes, all of them nonsense, just people and lurking shadows, none of them concerning me at all. Except for one.

I was wearing a black satin dress, long and sleevless, just a little low-cut… and covered in spots. Dark spots, that smelled metallic somehow, almost like…

_Oh my god,_ I thought, horrified. _I'm covered in blood._

It occurs to me just then that there are dark shadows on the ground around me. I don't want to look, I don't want to _know_, but the whole place is suddenly illuminated, and I finally see where I am. Since this is a nightmare, it's pretty obvious that I would be on boat. But even my scarred psyche could never have come up with the horribly mutilated figures lying around me. They were so mutilated, in fact, that I couldn't tell who they were. Until the light shifted away, like a search beam, and I saw a flash of auburn hair, and it was so much like mine, that I thought for a second that it _was_ me and I was a spirit hovering over my own body. But why was I wearing a tux?

Realization hit me like a bag of bricks in the stomach and my breath left my body in a rush.

"Jeff?" I gasped, my stomach turning, and for once it had nothing to do with the water five decks beneath my feet. I dropped beside my twin's body, my hands shaking uselessly above it. He was dead. He had to be. There was so much blood…

To my horror, the thing groaned and turned over, smearing more blood on the deck. Green eyes that mirrored my own turned to look at me, the only thing remotely human in the chopped flesh of the face. A scream stuck in my throat as the swollen partial lips opened and my brother's voice came through crystal clear.

"Happy Birthday, Ames. Sacrifice is your gift." He reached for me with his left hand, the only part of him left whole, except for the burn mark on his palm, an anchor with an arrow at the top.

The scream I'd been choking down ripped from my throat and broke the night sky.

The sunlight streaming through the tiny window of my room burned my eyes as I groggily opened them and turned over to look at the alarm clock. Eleven fourteen. "Happy Birthday," I said softly to myself as I sat up. My mother's picture sat staring at me next to the alarm clock. My eyes prickled with tears and I sniffed to keep them from running over. "I'm eighteen, Mom," I told the inanimate wooden frame. "Nice time to start having nightmares, huh?"

There was a knock on the door, and I started, putting my hand to my head. My hair was a disaster. Oh what the heck. It was probably just Jeff, anyway. I stood up and lumbered to the door, swinging it open with, "It's about ti- oh, um, Jack." Crap. "Hi."

"Hi. You, um, have my coat, I think." He smiled apologetically. "And this was outside your door." He handed me a _Happy Eighteenth Birthday!_ balloon through the door along with a white card. I took them and threw them into my room, trying to smooth down my hair inconspicuously.

"Thanks. Uh, yeah, it's in here- on the chair. Just a sec." I closed the door and went inside, tearing a brush through my hair before grabbing the coat and opening the door again. I handed it to him. "There you go. Bye." I started to close the door, but he stuck his foot in it. I debated on trying to close the door anyway, but decided against it.

"Look," he started, his eyes wide and pleading and… pretty much adorable. "I'm sorry about what happened last night. I was a jerk, and you didn't deserve it. Forgive me?"

"Sure," I said absently, too busy staring at him to really register what he'd said. Oh come on, if you'd seen the look on his face, you wouldn't have been able to focus, either. Not to mention the khaki slacks and blue sweater that fit oh-so-perfectly.

He smiled. "Great. You wanna go get breakfast? Well… lunch, I guess." He looked at his watch.

"I don't know…" I was thinking about his Prada shoes.

"The birthday girl," he said seriously, "should not spend the day in her room."

How do you argue with that logic? I agreed and told him to wait a second while I got ready. It was my birthday, and if I had to spend it on a boat, I might as well spend it with the hottest guy on the boat. Girl logic. If you're a guy reading this, don't try to figure it out.

I opened my suitcase to find a pretty purple tie-back dress on top with a Happy Birthday tag attached to it. I pulled it out, wondering how my dad had snuck it into my bag without my knowing. It had a sweetheart neckline and a gauzy sash on the empire waistline that, when tied, gave my waist a very deceivingly thin look. It had spaghetti straps and a low back, came about to mid-thigh… and I was thinking that maybe my father hadn't gotten it for me as I looked in the mirror. It was, however, the one and only dress I owned, and gosh darn it, I was eighteen. I wanted to look eighteen. No matter how much I hated wearing the thing. Thankfully I had a pair of white flip-flops that match everything, or I might have had to go barefoot.

At the last second, I remembered the box my brother had given me and grabbed it.

I took a deep breath in front of the door before opening it, which I knew was when the panic would set in. At least, I assumed it was. I really didn't have much experience with guys. But I think I mentioned that before.

I opened the door. Ooh. Well at least I knew _something_, I thought, trying not to hyperventilate as he smiled at me.

"You look great," he said appreciatively. I think I said thank you, but it came out as incoherent garble, which he thought was just hilarious. He offered me his arm and I took it, vowing to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the day. Which wasn't that easy to do, I decided as we walked to the dining room, since Jack didn't seem like the talkative type.

The dining room was _huge_, with seating for four hundred and giant crystal chandeliers placed at tasteful intervals on the cloud-painted ceiling. The walls were a cream color, with a shiny brass railing along the entire length of it. One end of the room was taken up by a dance floor, currently unoccupied. And it was bright with sunlight and smelled of fresh air and for the first time in a really long time, I felt… almost peaceful. Almost. Let's not forget that Jack was standing next to me, leading me to a quiet table for two next to a window. Oh, and he was still glowing a little red.

I leaned my back, looking out the window. Really, if you didn't look too much at the motion of the water, and just focused on its sparkliness, it wasn't so bad. In fact, it was kind of pretty.

"So," Jack said after an awkwardly long silence. "What do you want to eat?"

"French toast and strawberries," I answered automatically, since it was what I had every birthday. I blushed, looking down at the menu. "Oh, um… do they serve that? I mean, since its lunchtime and everything."

"No problem," he said as he motioned a waiter over. He ordered my breakfast or whatever it was and a cup of cocoa, but that was it.

I cocked my head at him. "You're not hungry?"

The question, though I thought it was pretty simple, seemed to surprise him.

"No," he shook his head. "I ate this morning."

"Oh." Another awkward silence. I fingered the box on the table next to me, staring absently out the window.

"What's that?" Jack asked, nodding toward the box. I looked down at it.

"Oh, uh, Dramamine. My brother gave it to me last night. It's supposed to help with sea sickness, but… I'm not sure what to do with it."

He looked at the box, as if contemplating something- probably how someone could end up so completely clueless- but after a minute, made up his mind and grabbed the box. He opened it gallantly and pulled out a round white patch, saying, "Allow me."

_Allow you to what?_ I started to ask, but he leaned across the table and brushed my hair back, placing the patch gently behind my ear. I would have been able to enjoy his close proximity- and wonderful breath and beautiful eyes and... nevermind- if I hadn't suddenly screamed and jumped out of my seat.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry about the long wait guys. We're getting ready to move and I haven't had too much time to write- much to my psychotic breakdown. I hope you like it! I had a ton of fun writing it. Violence is always my favorite. ;-)_

"What?" Jack yelled, jumping back from me. "What's wrong?"

I didn't say anything. Well, what could I? _Look out Jack, there's this really pissed off ghost standing behind you. Oh, and she has a knife_?

It was true, though. She was very pretty, besides the psychotic look on her face, with long, straight black hair and blue eyes, and a model-perfect figure that she probably never in her _life_ had to exercise or cut back on junk food for-

But I digress. Because it's not like I'm bitter or anything.

The ghost seemed to notice that I wasn't exactly oblivious to her presence, because she looked behind herself as if I could be staring at someone else, like I was terrified of a waiter or something. But if she thought she was going to ruin my birthday date (whether it was really a date or not, it was my birthday, and I was going to pretend it was), she had another thing coming. Namely, my foot in her stomach.

I walked passed Jack, who turned to look at me with eyebrows drawn together and a concerned look on his face. "Amelia, what is it?"

I didn't answer. The fact that she was holding a knife meant that she was fairly knew at this ghost thing- apparently she didn't know that she had preternatural powers yet, a plus for me, but I could have taken her out if she had. A tough hide and fast healing goes with the whole ghost-seer thing.

"I, uh," I stammered, suddenly realizing that I hadn't answered Jack's question. "I forgot something in my room. I'll be right back."

I walked toward the woman, looking pointedly toward the deck outside the restaurant. She didn't seem to get it, so I hissed, "_Outside."_

She stared at me. "You can see me?"

"Yeah," I whispered, not in one of my best moods. "And I'm kind of busy so put down the knife-"

"Or what?" she snarled, her black hair whipping around her face.

My teeth were gritted now- never a good sign. "Or I'll make you wish you'd gone to hell."

"Amelia, _who_ are you talking to?" Jack's confused voice came from behind me.

I turned and gave him a strained smile and nervous laugh. "Myself, I do that a lot."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're telling yourself that you'll make yourself wish you'd gone to hell?"

Note to self: be discreet when talking to invisible beings.

"Uh, yeah," I laughed nervously. "Dramamine wouldn't happen to have a psychotic side-effect, would it?"

"No," he said, his expression going dark. "It wouldn't."

_Whoa_. I _really _didn't like that look on his face. It was little too axe-murderer for me.

"Well," I said quickly, backing away from him and hitting a chair in the process, "I need to go get that thing from my room. I'll be right back."

He smiled, the axe-murderer look not going away. "How about I walk you there?"

_How about you jump off the boat?_ I wanted to say, but didn't.

"Oh no, its no big deal, I wouldn't want you to have to walk all the way-"

"Hello! What about me? I have issues I need worked out here!"

Oh, crap, I'd completely forgotten about the knife-wielding skank.

"Just a minute," I gritted at her over my shoulder.

"No," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "_I'm _the dead person! You're supposed to help me first, not take your boyfriend back to your cabin, because God knows I'm not going to stand around watching_ that-"_

I turned around and punched her in the mouth. "You know what?" I yelled. "Not everything is about your stupid little problems, okay? You're _dead_. Get over it!"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Not because they were nasty- I meant every word- but because I'd just yelled at a ghost in public, and if there's one sure-fire way to get thrown into Western State, that's it.

I felt a hand clamp onto my right forearm and turned my head to see Jack as he started pulling me out of the room. The expression on his face was definitely still axe-happy murderer- minus the happy.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, trying to pull away from him. "Let go of me!"

He didn't say anything, just kept dragging me with him toward I had no clue where, since I had only just come out of my room. I tried to pull away, but the grip on my arm? The word _steel_ comes to mind.

"I'll scream," I threatened as he pulled me through a door and down a metal staircase. "I swear I will, and I'll tell them you tried to rape me-"

"Shut up," he finally snapped.

Okay. That did it. I took a deep breath, prepared to scream, when I felt fire on my cheek, and my head snapped to the side. I put my hand up to my burning face and gave Jack a dumbfounded look. "You slapped me!"

"I told you," he growled, "to shut up."

All right. Screw the rule about not using my ghost buster moves on mortals. I was going karate kid on his ass.

I brought my left leg up and slammed my foot into the side of his arm. There was a sickening _crack_ sound and he screamed, pulling back his arm. Now that I was free, you'd think I'd run. But I have this thing about people hitting me. I don't like it. At all. So I gave myself a little hop and planted a high kick right in his nose. His head flew backwards and he slipped on the metal floor beneath him, falling flat on his back.

Okay, _now_ I could run. I turned, my intention to book it, but he wrapped a hand around my ankle and pulled me right off my feet. I landed hard next to him, the breath leaving my lungs in a _whoosh_. The floor was textured, too, and it cut into my bare legs.

"Son of a-" I panted, watching Jack stand up and shake himself off. And was it just me, or did his arm not look broken? He definitely shouldn't have been able to crack his knuckles like that with a broken arm.

"You know," he said, picking me up by the front of my dress with inhuman strength, "I was going to just seal you, but you seem to be too much trouble."

"What are you _talking_ about?" I gasped, still short of breath.

He dropped me gracelessly on the floor and knelt down beside me. "Its nothing personal," he assured me, grabbing my hand, "it's just that I have a deadline, and it looks like you could get in the way."

I was pulling frantically at my arm to get away, but I couldn't, and wasn't that arm supposed to be broken?

I closed my eyes, expecting him to twist it and break it, but to my surprise he just held my hand like he was introducing himself or something. I opened my eyes, and found his hypnotic blue eyes staring straight back into mine. Until something behind his head caught my attention. We must have been in a cargo hold or something, because there were a lot of boxes and things strapped to the floor. You may be wondering why I would notice something like this when I was thinking I was going to be murdered. No big deal really. It was just a bathtub strapped to the floor right behind him.

The bathtub I was supposed to die in.

The scream wasn't intentional. I felt my lungs fill with air involuntarily, and my throat constrict.

That's when the burning sensation started. It began in my hand, like someone had lit a match and dropped it into my palm. But the feeling got hotter and spread down my arm and into my chest, through my whole body, until I felt like I was on fire. The feeling stopped abruptly with a tearing feeling- not like I was getting cut or stabbed or something, like I thought would happen, but like my mind was being torn away from my body.

The feeling stopped, but I couldn't open my eyes. I felt like I was floating, like I was weightless. _This must be what dying feels like_, I thought, and opened one eye. They both opened, though, and the scream I couldn't let go of earlier tore from my throat. I _was_ floating. And the girl lying on the floor below me in the purple dress looked just like-

Oh my god. I wasn't dying.

_I was dead_.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I'm so sorry guys! This whole moving thing is a pain. The internet hates me. Unfortunately, I am addicted to it. It's an unhealthy relationship. Anyway, I'm posting two chapters tonight, just because you guys are so great._

The shock gave way to anger. Mind-numbing, teeth-breaking _fury._

"You killed me," I gritted softly between my teeth.

Jack looked as surprised as I did. "No, I-"

He stopped, staring at my body, and then seemed to pull himself together a bit, He cleared his throat, looking like he was in complete control. "Well, I had to control you somehow. I can't let a spoiled brat ruin my plans."

"Control this," I told him, and threw a psi ball at him.

I know what you're thinking. I had _just_ died. I should not have been able to do anything as powerful as throw a psi ball yet, especially since I was still connected to my body, seeing as it was right below me. Trust me, I was surprised, too. I did not, however, waste anytime contemplating my new situation as I watched Jack fly backwards into the metal wall. I concentrated instead on getting my feet- or whatever you want to call them- to the ground, which is not as easy to do as it sounds. By the time I actually reached the ground, Jack had fully recovered and was looking at me in total outrage.

And, by the way, the red glow had turned into a red _blaze._

"You think," I growled, walking forward, "that you can go around killing people just because you're some kind of super ghost? Who the hell do you think you are?"

His voice was deadly serious, his eyes blazing as he calmly told me, "I'm the soul salvager."

I just stared at him. "Am I supposed to be impressed or something? I know what a salvager is," I told him and continued at his surprised look as I continued walking forward, enunciating every word. "You're a lackey. A meaningless, useless, worthless _minion_ that they sent down her to get rid of."

I was toe-to-toe with him now and could see the flecks of green and gold in his perfectly blue eyes. Not that I was noticing at the time or anything, since I was_ dead_. Jack, looking none too pleased (to make the understatement of the century) lifted his hand and to hit me.

I closed my eyes, bracing for the blow, but it never came. Opening one of my eyes, I saw him, standing with his hand in mid-air, staring at me. No, wait, not me. Something behind me.

His grin was malicious as he whispered right against my ear, "Someone's here to see you."

I turned and saw what he'd been looking at.

"Jeff," I choked, staring at my twin. He wasn't looking at me, he was looking at my body and he had the most horrible expression on his face. Like he wanted to scream and puke and hit something all at the same time.

"Ames?" he whispered hoarsely, falling down to the deck. "Ames, are you all right?"

_No I'm not all right!_ I wanted to scream at him. _I'm dead!_ But psi ball or not, I couldn't communicate with the living. Not yet, at least. Give me about five more years, and I could slam a door, but for right now I was stuck.

Or so I thought.

Jeff gently turned my body over, brushing my hair out of my face. Then he put two fingers against the side of my neck and, after a second, gave a sigh of relief. "Not dead," he murmured.

Not dead? What did he mean, _not dead_? I had just been floating four feet above his head, for the love of-

"What did you do to me, Jack?" I demanded. To my horror, he looked as confused as I did.

"I don't know," he told me calmly. "If I'd known that you weren't already dead-"

"Of course I wasn't already dead!" I shouted. "I was walking around on deck!"

"You were talking to other ghosts!" he shouted back. "You never came out of your room!"

"I'm afraid of water!" I screamed at him.

I saw Jeff jump to his feet suddenly and look around the room warily. "Ames? Was that you?"

"Jeff!" I yelled, completely forgetting about Jack for a minute. I ran towards him, stopping a foot or so away. "Yes, it's me! Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you." He turned in a circle, looking very confused. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here, in front of you."

He looked at my body, then slowly leaned down, saying lowly. "In there? You're stuck in there?"

"No," I growled in annoyance. "I'm a ghost. Look, stop staring at my body like that, its creeping me out."

"Uh… sorry." He looked around the room, putting his hands out in front of him, like he was feeling around for me. "Where are you?"

"Your hand just went through my stomach."

Jeff made a disgusted sound and waved his hands around. "God, Ames, what _happened_?"

My teeth gritted. "Ask-"

Jeff's eyebrows furrowed. "Ask who? Ames?"

I moved my tongue around, but no sound came out. His name was on the _tip of my tongue_, but I couldn't spit it out. "Jeff," I whispered, horrified. "I can't say it. I can't say his name."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Here ya go, here's your second! I know I promised romance in the genres, but its coming, I promise. Just a teaser here. ;-)_ _P.s.- I HATE THIS INTERNET CONNECTION! No fear, however, the special Comcast people are coming to check on it!_

"Jack!" I screamed when I'd found a spot out of earshot from anyone. Apparently, I could say it all I wanted when no one could hear me. _"Jack!"_

"What?" he barked, appearing two feet in front of me.

I was so angry at him, I was seeing red, and it wasn't just because he was glowing. "I know I threw up on your shoes, but you didn't have to _kill_ me!"

He stopped and stared at me, then gave me a look and said with a major attitude I would have gotten slapped for, "You think this is about _shoes_?"

Now I was confused. "Wait, so if this isn't about the shoes... why did you kill me?"

He walked toward me, looking totally sexy as gave me an appraising look through his overlong bangs. "You are not normal girl."

_You have no idea,_ I thought and started when he smiled.

"Oh, yes I do. Not just any girl walks onto my ship and gets contacted by my minions."

My jaw dropped. "What- how-?"

"It comes with the soul salvager thing," he told me conversationally. "Just like the aura-reading thing, but you would know about that."

I stared at him, sizing him up. "So you knew, all this time? About my abilities? Then why did you wait to kill me?"

"I didn't have to, until you started screaming at my ghosts in public," he sulked. "You didn't leave me much of a choice. And now, thanks to you-" the snotty tone was back- "my whole plan has to be re-ordered. As soon as your half-wit brother tells your father what happened, they'll be looking for your body, and they'll know something's wrong. That's not part of the plan, because they can't know anything. _Anything_. If they get suspicious and turn back to port- well, let's just say strike three."

"Wait, hold it, stop." I put my hand s up in front of me. "What do you mean, they'll be looking for my body? Its right in the cargo hold! Jeff knows where it is!"

He gave me that smile that had turned my heart for a very different reason earlier. "Are you sure about that?"

The explosion of anger before had been a grenade. What I was feeling now was a nuclear war. "Jack. What. Did. You. Do."

"It's apparent that you're pretty powerful. I can't have you running around my ship doing whatever you want." I started to cut in, but he continued talking. "You do what I say and I _might_ return your soul to your body. You mess things up and I'll throw it overboard, and I hope you like the bottom of the ocean, because as it stands, you're still attatched to your body. You'll be down there till Kingdom Come."

"Empty threat," I told him quietly. "I know right where my body is. As you said, I'm pretty attatched."

He cocked his head and grinned. "Do you? Prove it."

I closed my eyes and concentrated. There it was, just like it had been before, but it was at the edge of my consciousness, like when you lose your train of thought and can't quite remember what you were talking about before. I could feel it there, but where I had no clue.

I opened my eyes, leveling him with my iciest green stare. "I hate you."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think you hate me now? I've made you my personal assistant." He leaned forward, putting his lips against my ear as he whispered, "Just wait."

And then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Let me tell you something about being dead: it _sucks_. I mean, it's not like you can watch TV- you can't grab the freaking remote. And even if you could, what's the point? You're _dead_. So after about the first six hours of worrying and being angry and screaming, I was well, just… bored.

I was lying on my bed with my head hanging off the side when the door to my cabin slammed open. Jeff was standing in the doorway, looking crazy. "Ames?" he yelled, holding onto the doorway with enough force to rip off the molding. "Are you in here?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "It took you long enough."

He sighed in relief, collapsing on top of my bed. "How are you doing?"

"Well," I said, lifting my head to look at him. "I was doing okay and then you sat on top of me and now I'm a little creeped out. Oh. And I'm dead."

Jeff swore and jumped off the bed. "Sorry. You could tell me where you are, you know, so I don't… whatever." He waved a hand around like it didn't matter. "You're not dead. When I found you in the hold, you still had a pulse."

"Jeff." The look I gave him was pointless since he couldn't see me. "I'm invisible. I'm translucent. And I can float. What about that says _alive_ to you?"

He shrugged. "I know, but you had a pulse and you were breathing."

I turned over, facing the wall, like I would have done if he could have seen my face. "What did you do to me?" I murmured to a not-present (at least I hoped) Jack. Suddenly, even though I was on a boat, I had to get out of the cabin. Just go somewhere, anywhere else. And it's not like I was afraid of drowning anymore. I didn't have real lungs to get filled with water.

"I'm out," I told Jeff and walked through the door. I could hear him protesting, and walking around the room, knocking into furniture as he tried to figure out where I was. I left him there, heading toward the cargo hold. I really was a ghost, I mused sarcastically as I paused in front of the door. Haunting the place I'd been killed. Er… comatized.

Whatever. I'm giving myself a headache.

The point is, I was just minding my own business, trying to find my un-corpse when he came out of nowhere. No, not Jack (which, looking back, I would have preferred), but someone who thought he was just as important. I could tell by the way he suddenly appeared in front of the door, glaring down at me over the tops of his aviators. I looked him over in disbelief, taking note of his beat-up leather jacket, equally battered jeans, and white t-shirt. Seriously. Like he was a greaser from the fifties or something.

"Wait, let me guess," I snapped, and my hands flew to my hips despite my abhorrence of teenage behavior. "This is _your_ cargo hold. God, I swear, you ghosts are so territorial over the _weirdest_ stuff-"

"Whoa, cool it, honey," he drawled, like some bad line from a John Travolta movie, and then he thumbed his nose.

No, I am not kidding.

"You wanna tell me what a dolly like you in is doin' down here?" He grinned, and looped his thumbs through his jeans. "Or maybe you're just ditchin' a fake out."

"I don't know what that means, but I'm pretty sure I'm not doing whatever you're thinking." I slid one foot back and raised a fist, like I'd seen boys do on those old TV shows. "Now move before I… knock your lights out or whatever."

Fonzy stopped grinning.

"If I hit girls- and I don't- I'd introduce you to the floor," he stuck is his finger in my face and glared at me.

I smacked his hand away, "Whatever. I need to get in there, and since you're such a gentleman and all, do you think you could get out of the way?"

He shook his head, fists on his hips. "No one goes in there but the boss- no one dead anyhow." He narrowed his eyes at me, looking me up and down. "Say, how'd you get this way, anyway?"

"Ask your boss. And I'm not dead." I held out a hand and pressed against the wall, which made a slight groaning sound. "See? I'm just… an astral projection or something."

He snorted derisively. "That don't prove nothin'. I could pull the whole wall off if I wanted to. "

"But I'm not dead," I insisted. "Look, the last time I saw my body, it was in there. With the bathtub." He looked unimpressed by this fact and for some reason it really ticked me off. "By God, if you don't get out of my way in two seconds-!"

"Woah, woah!" His eyes widened as he took a step back and held up placating hands. "Cool your jets- no need to blow anything up. Boss would be real happy with that," he muttered, and phased through the door.

I blinked in surprise. If he thought a little yelling was impressive, he should have been around when Jeff and I got into fights. I reached out to walk through the door, like I was walking through the dark, and stopped. _What the hell?_

The greaser's head and shoulders came through the door and he snapped, "Hey, girlie. You comin'?"

"My arm is glowing green." I looked from my hand, still held out in front of me, to him. "Why is it doing that?"

He scratched the back of his head. "Well, my best guess is that you got one nasty seal on you. But what the hell do I know? I'm dead."

With that, he walked disappeared into the door, and I followed. God, this was awful- I was giving myself the creeps. He seemed to notice because he tried to comfort me with, "You think that's bad, you shoulda seen yourself a second ago, all purple and sh-… stuff. The boss really put one over on you, didn't he?"

"He's not my boss." The cargo looked the same, full of boxes and suitcases and that stupid grated metal floor. The dark didn't seem to bother me anymore, though, and I wasn't sure if that were a good thing or not. I could see from where I was standing to the other end without straining. It made me feel like a freaking vampire. "Do you see me anywhere?"

He gave me a look.

"No," I said in exasperation, "not _me_, I mean, my body. Look, I was just lying here, right next to the… hey." My brow furrowed. "Where's the bathtub?" It was gone along with my body, and I was supposed to _die in it_. Coincidence? I think not.

"Hey!" I called, and when I got no answer, turned to see the greaser leaning against the wall, not paying any attention. "_Hey!"_

"I have a name, you know." He straightened to a slouch, which is a good as it got for him, and extended a hand. "Friends call me Johnny."

"That's great," I said, ignoring his hand. "But where's the bathtub that was here an hour ago?"

"Lady," he said irritably, "I may be dead, but I got better things to do than keep track a the cargo. Besides." He narrowed his eyes. "You're marked. And the boss keeps pretty close tabs on his property."

"He's not my- oh, God. Forget it." I sighed, starting through the cargo hold. I only got a couple of feet before I was suddenly stepping on unmistakable black leather shoes and looked up to stare into blue-green eyes. I swore, jumping backwards.

Jack grinned and looked at me through his dark blond eyelashes. "I've got your first job."


End file.
